Page 155 of The Book of Summer

“Bess. You are beautiful. That dress. The necklace.” He gestures. “Everything. Flick will be pissed at you for stealing the show.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Bess says.

She put on the only dress she could tonight—a loose-cut, wool- and-silk-blend navy shift with deep Vs in the front and in the back. Thank God she’d left it at Cliff House. It was, she remembers, her backup rehearsal-dinner dress. This one would’ve been better than what she chose.

As for the necklace, it was Grandma Ruby’s. Boston jewels to be sure, as emeralds and diamonds are far too citified for Cliff House. But somehow they seem ideal to celebrate Felicia.

“Well,” Evan says. “Are you ready? Of course you’re ready. Look at you.”

“Evan. I don’t…”

Bess’s insides are all mixed up, stirred and shaken. He’s given her the butterflies by simply walking through that door. On the other hand, is this a pity date? Shouldn’t he be with Grace and Jack?

“What about…?” Bess starts.

What the hell. Why ruin a good moment? She’ll worry about mysterious girlfriends later.

“Hold on, let me get my shoes,” she mumbles, then fishes her heels out from beneath the couch.

“You shouldn’t bend over like that,” he says. “Although it’s a nice view.”

Bess bolts to straight.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she says.

“Sorry,” he answers with a wince. “I was trying to be funny. And flirt. And it’s all gone horribly wrong.” Evan shakes his head. “I consider myself pretty decent at charming the ladies, but apparently I’m wrong. You’re just… you’re so damned gorgeous.”

“Knock it off,” Bess growls, and turns away from him so he cannot see the flush of her cheeks.

“This isn’t flattery, Bess. I’m acting like a moron because I’m not used to being so far out of my league.” He contemplates this. “Which is weird because I played up an age division in baseball. But I was never in the majors, which is what’s going on here.”

“Majors?” Bess says, slipping into her shoes. “Now you’re rambling.”

“I know. But it’s like you’ve handed a sixteen-year-old a Ferrari. It’s awesome as hell but he doesn’t have the slightest clue how to work it.”

“You seemed to have no trouble ‘working it’ in high school. Or now.”

Bess sighs and rakes her fingers through her hair. She thinks to check a mirror, but decides she’d have to walk too far. A brief glimpse at her cell phone screen indicates that her mascara won’t look too smudged in the dark or at a certain blood-alcohol level.

“Are you ready?” she asks, and tucks a clutch beneath her arm.

The purse is Palmer’s and inside are two credit cards, some twenties, and one sanitary napkin. As the purse crinkles, Bess flinches. She hasn’t worn a pad in twenty years. The miscarriage already happened, but the bleeding continues because evidently the universe really likes to drive a point home.

“What do you have there?” Bess asks, swiping pink gloss across her lips.

“What now?”

“The bag.” She touches the black carrier still dangling from his hand. “Do you need to buzz by the Stop and Shop on our way? Pick up some milk and toilet paper?”

“Oh!” Evan says, face brightening, perking out of its confusion. “I almost forgot. Here.” He extends an arm. “The Book of Summer, delivered with the official white-glove treatment. You didn’t think the suit was for the wedding, did you?”

Bess tilts her head and frowns. She takes the bag.

“Thank you.” She removes the book and fans through its pages. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me. In all the… commotion… I didn’t check where it was.”

Bess flips toward the back, though does not make it all the way to the end. The final entry she’ll find at some later date, too late, she might think. After closing it again, Bess inhales deeply and then sets it on the coffee table.

“Well, let’s get to it,” she says, and breaks out a sad smile. “By the way, despite appearances, I really do appreciate you coming to get me. I never would’ve made it otherwise.”